I Paid a Stranger Fifteen Hundred Dollars to Be My Boyfriend for My Father's Birthday Weekend, and He Obeyed Every Order I Gave novel · Chapter 16 of 24

Chapter 16: What He Wants

The van pulled out of the drive at two with every relative I owned inside it, headed for the cider mill.

My mother had stood at the front door counting heads.

"You two stay and rest," she'd said, looking at nobody in particular. "You look tired. Take a nap. Take a long one."

Now the house was empty and ticking in the afternoon sun.

I sat in the guest room armchair with my legs crossed and my phone face down on the dresser, where it had been since the cellar.

Nick's text was still sitting in it, unanswered.

I had decided to let him wait.

Ben stood in front of me in the slanting light, with his sleeves pushed up and his hands loose at his sides.

"Kneel," I said.

He knelt on the braided rug, at my feet, close enough that his chest touched my knees.

I looked down at him.

He had a scratch on his shoulder from the cellar stone and a mark on his neck from me.

"I want to try something," I said.

"Okay."

"For three days you've done what I said."

"Yes."

"Every single thing."

"I've liked it."

"I know you have. Now I want to hear what you want."

He went very still.

"That's not on the sheet," he said.

"Rule three is that all orders are spoken aloud. This is an order. Say one thing you want. Out loud. And take your time."

"Jodi."

"Slowly."

He looked up at me.

For a moment he was just a big quiet man on his knees, trying to find words he had put away a long time ago.

"I want to take your cardigan off," he said. "One button at a time."

"Why?"

"Because you do everything fast when you're angry, and I want to see you not rush."

I felt that in my stomach.

"Yes," I said.

His hands came up to the first button, at my collarbone, and slid it through the hole.

He looked at me after each one.

Four buttons, five, and the wool fell open over my bra.

He didn't stop there, and he didn't look away.

"What else?"

"I want to kiss your knees."

"Why my knees?"

"I think about them at the table. When you cross your legs. I think about the little place behind them."

I uncrossed my legs.

He bent his head and put his mouth to the inside of my right knee, slow and warm.

My breath came out in a rush.

He kissed up the inside of my thigh, over my jeans, and I realized I'd forgotten I was still wearing them.

"Take those off," I said. "Please."

"Lift your hips," he said.

"Then do it."

He unbuttoned them and drew them down my legs with my underwear, and I lifted my hips to help.

Then I sat there bare in the chair with the cardigan hanging open.

Late sun laid a stripe across my stomach.

"What else do you want?" I said.

His voice had gone low and rough.

"I want to put your legs over the arms of the chair."

"Then do it."

"I want to look at you for a minute first."

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